


Disassembled

by Immicolia



Series: Displaced-verse [3]
Category: Durarara!!
Genre: AU of my own AU, Coping with Grief, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-03
Updated: 2013-03-03
Packaged: 2017-12-04 05:54:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/707291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Immicolia/pseuds/Immicolia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An alternate take on chapters 13/14 of "Displaced".   Wherein Tsukumoya is degraded far more seriously when Izaya finally pulls him out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Disassembled

It never occurred to Izaya that something like Tsukumoya could die.

Although it's hard to say if he really is dead, there's still _something_ there. All that's left is a chunk of incomprehensible junk data that he managed to pull out of that otherwise empty partition on Nebula's servers. Something that used to be Tsukumoya before he degraded down to almost nothing from a combination of isolation and simply being viciously torn apart.

Izaya has tried everything to bring him back to himself. He tried coaxing Tsukumoya back that very first day before growing frustrated with the lack of response and pulling him free outright. He has made sure that there is enough of a connection to the outside since isolation is part of what destroyed him. He has done everything he could think of and there _still_ isn't even the slightest twitch in response.

And maybe it's nothing more than a corpse he has tucked away on one of his hard drives right now.

That thought sends the oddest sort of twist through his guts. A painful flip low in Izaya's belly that has him gulping at coffee that's long since gone cold and for a brief instant he wishes that it was something stronger. He's not fond of losing his faculties but there are occasions when it would be comforting to do so. To just blot out the horrible things his brain keeps pointing out.

_[Ah, you're more trouble than you're worth, Tsukumoya. You know that?]_

Izaya still tries to talk him (it, _him_ ) out of it. He doesn't know if he's even going about it the right way but he types up little messages. Messages that were irritable at first but lately have become strangely poignant little things. Quiet admissions that he deletes within a few minutes. Uncomfortable things that have long since stopped being about simply protecting a valuable source and have become....

He's not quite sure.

_[You need to stop being so damn lazy.]_

He doesn't care for monsters and Tsukumoya will never be anything remotely like a human. And even if he were, Izaya doesn't mourn when any single human dies. It's the nature of life and even though he's not fond of the idea of dying himself, the way humans react in the face of their own mortality is just another facet of why he loves them so.

The way people mourn is another thing that is wonderful about them.

_[I have more important things to do than keep trying to wake you up.]_

He doesn't consider what he has been doing mourning. There's a strange sort of emptiness there, but he won't admit to having lost yet. Even while he sleeps and eats even less than usual and tries to coax a ghost in the machine back to life in between his regular work. Even while his regular work starts to suffer for it.

He's not mourning. 

_[Why won't you just wake up?]_

There are nights when he wonders if he should just let go. There's nothing left and it's foolish anyway and he'd be doing them both a kindness to just delete this jumbled unrecognizable mess. It doesn't react, it likely can't think, it's _not Tsukumoya_.

It's nothing.

He may not be prone to it. He may not enjoy doing it. But one night Izaya starts drinking. He opens a bottle of expensive scotch a client gave him as a gift and pours himself glass after glass. The alcohol doing quick work on his empty stomach and sleep deprived state and he comes to the next morning quietly thankful that he didn't wind up vomiting or poisoning himself (although entirely regretting the fact that he passed out in his desk chair.)

There's a senseless wall of text on the screen. A mass of typos and barely coherent sentences that convey a raw sort of agony that Izaya doesn't want to admit to feeling.

_[why dont you jsut wake up i need you back i neeed]_

He closes the window before reading even half of it. A sharp breath hissing out from between his teeth and he tries to ignore the awkward sort of itch in the back of his throat.

_[dont want to let go]_

He hasn't been taking care of himself. Clearly he must be coming down with something.

_[shold should youre dead shuold bury you]_

His head is killing him. He's being an idiot. He needs to stop this.

_[bury or delete or somethng deletes more accurate]_

It's a reflex that he checks to see if the files are still there. That he didn't do anything intensely stupid in his inebriated state. And he won't admit to the odd little flood of relief over the fact that it's all still there (just as he won't admit to feeling _anything_ of late). Whatever remains it's still there.

He'll have to do something about this eventually. Make a decision of some kind. He could upload it to some far flung corner of the internet but it seems wrong to leave what's left just sitting out there where Nebula could very well dredge it up again. He could delete it but there's something distasteful about that when he doesn't even know for sure if there's anything conscious left in there or not.

(Simon told him once that he was a coward, only willing to manipulate people into tearing at one another and incapable of killing for himself. And it really is true.)

Or he could leave it just where it is. Leave it well enough alone and stop obsessing like this. It's been a week now. Nothing is going to change. It's over and done. He's lost his....

What?

More than just a source. Not quite a friend. Not really much of a lover either considering they only fucked a few times as some complicated sort of mind game.

_[hate you love you i jsut want]_

Whatever Tsukumoya was he's just gone.

That's all there is.


End file.
